


The First Rule

by asktheravens



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, maybe a plot eventually, so much rain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:57:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asktheravens/pseuds/asktheravens
Summary: They're caught in the rain without Sypha to mediate, and Alucard is having trouble remembering the first rule his mother taught him.





	1. A Gentleman Never Says I Told You So

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing I've been working on to chase away the writer's block blues. It has not been beta read and it has no outline, just a general shape, but I love this show and these characters and this has been kicking around my brain, so I hope you enjoy it!

Rain was coming down so hard that it seemed to be coming up from the ground as well, and any time there was a break in the trees along the path it came in from the sides like a bucket thrown in his face.  Adrian had the lead, and he hoped they were still on the path or he'd be rather embarrassed to say the least.  Even with his vampire senses he couldn't see through the curtains of water or hear over the patter of rain in the trees and the roar of the storm itself.  His cloak did little to shield his face, and even if he fell into the river that had to be around here somewhere he doubted he would notice.  It was simply not possible to be any more wet.

He stopped, fruitlessly shaking his cloak, and turned once again to make sure Belmont was still with him.  His hunter companion was brave to the point of foolishness and quite hardy for a human, but he struggled to move through the wet forest, and now the sun was down he was even worse.  He staggered on a root or slipped in the mud , catching himself on on trees or tumbling into the slimy carpet of pine needles.  Adrian had to wait for him, this time, listening closely to pick up his footsteps over the weather, until Belmont reached him at last.  He would have stumbled right into Adrian if he hadn't been waiting, and he caught Belmont and steadied him to keep him from falling again.  Trevor looked even more miserable than Adrian himself, blind and bruised and covered in muck, and he shivered uncontrollably under Adrian's hand.

"Are you unwell?" Adrian asked him, raising his voice to be heard.

"I can keep up," Belmont growled, which did not really answer the question, and did not seem like the truth at any rate.  "We have to meet Sypha."

"She is with the Speakers, and they will have made camp or sought a safe place in weather this poor.  We should do likewise."

"We can't.  The Horde..."

"The Horde can't navigate in this," Adrian said, thinking an unspoken 'I hope' as he did.  "And neither can I," he admitted.

"Are we... are we fucking lost?" Belmont asked.

"I know where we are.  More or less," Adrian said.  He hoped the map they'd taken such pains to obtain was still safely in it's oilskin tube in their pack.  He wouldn't take it out without some cover, and even if he did how would he recognize landmarks?  "But we are using all your strength and making terrible time.  We need to seek shelter before you break an ankle and I'm forced to carry you."

"I'd like to see you try," Belmont growled, but he was shivering too hard to speak very well.  His traveling fur had matted down to a sodden, bedraggled mess that was no longer doing anything to keep him dry or warm, and his dark hair was plastered to his face.  Rain ran freely down his head and neck and fell in a waterfall off the edges of his clothing, and Adrian was afraid his worn boots might actually dissolve.  "It's too cold to stand here and argue," Belmont tried.  "If your Royal Highness can't stand a little water, then I'll go on ahead and meet the Speakers."

"Suit yourself, then," Adrian sighed.  "We can continue.  I find it unpleasant but it's not dangerous for me."  He started walking again, thinking he would try again in another mile to see if the rain had washed away enough of Belmont's stubborness for him to see reason.  After a few steps, he turned and said, "But you must keep up."

"You don't have to wait for me.  I can find the way myself."

"Of course you can.  But I promised Miss Belnades we would both meet her at the ruins, and so I must keep us together.  It's quite distracting to think you've gone missing every time you find another thorn bush to shove your face in."  He didn't wait for a reply and started walking again, forcing Belmont to keep up.

He began looking for their route again, making sure the road was still to his right.  Behind him he heard a familiar thrashing sound, a thud, and a grunt of pain that turned into a moan.  Alucard knew what he would see before he even turned around.  He was at Trevor's side faster than a raindrop, the hunter curled around his ankle with a stream of water running over him o heavy it threatened to wash him away.  Trevor glared up at him, white faced with his lower lip between his teeth, trying not to betray his pain.

"Don't you dare say it," Trevor grumbled.

"Say what?"

"That you just told me this would happen."

"It seems unneccessary," Alucard said.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Trevor said, but he accepted a hand up.  Alucard chose not to let go of him, which was wise as Belmont staggered as soon as he put weight on his ankle and would have fallen.  Instead he ended up with his face in Adrian's chest, with Adrian's arm holding him up.  Trevor recoiled from the contact hard enough that he almost managed to fall over anyway.

"You are not fine," Adrian said, low and reasonable.  He tried to tell himself it did not matter, that he had never wanted any part of touching Trevor, or anyone else, and he shouldn't take it personally that a Belmont would find his aid, and especially his touch, repugnant.  "Is your ankle broken?"

"I don't think so," Trevor said.  He seemed to get ahold of himself and stopped trying to get away, leaning on Adrian for support.  He took another step and stumbled again.  "But it's probably sprained," he sighed.  He shivered again in the rain, and his face had grown even more pale.

"We will find shelter," Adrian said, and this time he did not phrase it as any kind of question.  "At least until the storm stops.  We cannot travel on like this."

"All right," Trevor grumbled, like it pained him, though that might have been just his injury.  Adrian had been prepared to spend at least a few more minutes arguing; his swift agreement worried him more than anything else.  Movinf slowly and carefully, he put his arm around Trevor's waist and lifted him into a carry.  Trevor growled- actually growled, the barbarian- but his struggles died down to quiet defeat and he panted in pain.

"It would be easier if you put your arm around my neck," he suggested in the most neutral voice he could muster.  Trevor glared at him, but the rain falling in his eyes spoiled the effect.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would, because it's hard to balance with all your weight on my hip," he said.  He refused to acknowledge that this was not what Trevor meant.  "Really, Belmont, you are cold and heavy and you smell like a kennel full of surly wet hounds.  Do you want to get out of the rain or not?"

"Fine," he muttered, and swung an arm up and around Adrian's shoulders, with such an obvious sulk that Adrian had to press his lips together to keep from laughing despite their precarious situation.  It did bring Trevor's arm awfully close to his face, and a few fingers widths of exposed wrist.  They gave off the heavenly scent of warm, fresh blood, coursing through the vessels just beneath the pale, chilled skin, and though faint it cut through the smells of wet wool and leather and fur, the mud and pine needles and sweat, and even the scent of the rain itself.  It was faint but unmistakable, like catching a whiff of bread baking or the woodsmoke coming from his mother's cottage.  He ignored it completely, but it worked on parts of him that he had little control over, and he swallowed discretely to be rid of a sudden excess of saliva.  Trevor could be infuriating, but he was an ally, and maybe something like a friend, and Adrian would not eat him.  He had never eaten anyone, actually, just as he'd never really had any friends, but he dreamed about it.  He had slept for a full year while fervid, hyper real hallucinations cycled through his mind, visions of his mother burning, of his father changing into a monster wearing a familiar face, blood and fire, sex and death constantly morphing into each other as his body healed and starved beneath Gresit.

"Let's go already," Trevor complained, and Adrian snapped out of his reverie.  Right.  No eating humans.  And especially no eating Trevor Belmont.


	2. A Bridge Too Far

He didn't think about Trevor's heartbeat under his arm as they limped along, or the little gasps and huffs of pain as he crossed the uneven ground.  It was hard enough to navigate in the wet and the muck without the distraction of another body so close he could almost taste it.  Trevor delighted in getting under his nerves, and now he was all but under his skin.  They had both done their best to maintain their boundaries around each other.  Like oil in water, they could coexist but never combine, and like the poles of a magnet they pushed away and pulled close only when forced. 

Adrian carried him as gently as he could and wished he had more blood in him, more freedom to use his powers.  He'd kept them pushed down all his life, as his mother didn't like to see them.  He'd been a human to her eyes, blinded by a mother's love to the truth of his dual nature, but his father had taken him on solitary lessons from time to time.  He would be more dangerous to himself and others without control, of course, and as he'd come into his adult form the vampire in his blood had come to the fore more and more often.  He'd used up so much of his energy healing from the injuries his father had inflicted, burning up his magic to stay alive, that he was little more than human until he managed to find some.  He had sworn, to them and to himself, that he would not take blood from his companions, no matter how it tempted him; as depleted as he was, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't kill when he fed.  With a full complement of blood, he could have turned into a huge swarm of bats and carried Trevor.  He was sure the hunter would have just loved to travel that way.  As it was, he was stuck with being half carried and half dragged through the dark woods while Adrian struggled to keep his fangs where they belonged.

A mildly wounded Trevor Belmont complained constantly, demanding ale and attention.  A gravely injured Trevor Belmont made light of his wounds and kept quiet until he collapsed.  He clung to Adrian and did not speak, his muscles tense and his breathing ragged.  At first his shivering fits took Adrian by surprise, so violent that he nearly lost his footing, but they had grown weaker and further apart, and Adrian was beginning to worry.

"Miss Belnades will be most put out if I bring you to the meet up dead," he said.  Trevor always responded to his needling, and Adrian wanted to see if he could speak.  Trevor glared at him, opened his mouth to speak, and mercifully passed out.  Neither calling his name nor the rain falling on his upturned face could rouse him, so Adrian switched their positions so he was carrying Trevor pressed against his chest.  He made better time this way, but he hoped Trevor didn't wake up and realize what was going on.

His vision in the dark was excellent, and he didn't need blood for that. The rain and the cold dampened the smell and warmth of Trevor's body, but it did nothing to stop the hypnotic whoosh and thump rhythm of his heart. Rather than fight it, he just let it fill his ears and focused on the dark woods. There, he saw. Up ahead, the woods thinned and he was able to step out onto a road, a rutted path wide enough for two wagons to just pass each other. Trevor would have undoubtedly fallen into the flooded ditch, so it was a good thing Adrian was carrying him. He hopped lightly over it and landed in the road with a soft splash. Mud flowed over his feet and sucked at his ankles, and stones and wheel ruts fouled his step, but at least he didn't have to dodge trees and slopes. Plus, roads led somewhere, and he would have taken a pig shed if it had a roof at this point.  
At last the road turned down hill, and he followed it down to a bridge over the river, whose name he did not know. He nearly stepped onto the wooden boards, but he hesitated and drew his foot back. The water rushed and gurgled wildly, tugging at the pylons, nearly flowing over the surface of the bridge, uncontained. Leaves and branches swirled and plunged in the current, and an entire tree had caught against the supports. But there, on the far side, he could see what looked like a coaching inn, a substantial building with pens and outbuildings that promised shelter, food, and warmth. He only had to cross about fifteen feet of running water. He swallowed hard and tasted copper and acid, his stomach threatening to reject the last human food he had eaten at the thought. His father could cross running water, at some cost; many of his kind couldn't face it at all, and could be hemmed in by a river or even a stream of sufficient size.

   
Trevor shivered against his breastbone and made a wordless sound, and without thinking about it Adrian smoothed his sopping hair back and shushed him, as his mother would have done with a patient, or with him. His fingers lingered over the hard line of his jaw, dusted with stubble and tantalizingly close to the hot rush of the carotid. Adrian pulled his fingers back and was glad that they would never need to speak of the moment. Still, it spurred him to action. He got a firm grip on Trevor, set his gaze on the opposite bank, and stepped out onto the bridge.

  
The nausea hit him as soon as both of his feet were on the bridge, and the whole contraption trembled with the storm's assault from both sky and current. A dizzy rush of vertigo threatened to stop him, or drive him back to the other side, but he pressed forward with gritted teeth. His fangs slipped from his gums and his breath came hard, but he forced himself to walk, step after shaking step, until he reached the center of the bridge. Here the rush of the water was so strong he felt as though he had already been swept away, plunged below the surface and carried with the current with no more say in it than a branch. His palms touched wet wood and he dug his fingers in, bracing on his knees with his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving like a bellows.

  
"Alucard?" Trevor asked. The fall must have shaken him awake, maybe jarred his bad ankle. Adrian didn't trust himself to open his mouth, certain he would either vomit or bite, but he shook his head. Trevor looked around, though he didn't ride or try to get out from under the shelter of Adrian's body, taking in his surroundings and calculating.

  
"Seek ye rushing water, for it will drive back the fiends of the night," Trevor quoted from some damn bestiary while Adrian struggled to get control of himself. "I was never sure if that was true."  
"It's true," Adrian hissed, his mouth full of fangs and the taste of copper.

  
"Will you die?" Trevor drawled. "Because that would be terribly inconvenient." Adrian opened his eyes at that to glare at him, momentarily nettled out of his paralysis. Belmont was looking to him, feigning idle curiosity, but he was worried. Touching.

  
"It makes it hard for me to move," he said. He got his fangs to retract, at least partially, and his voice came out more or less human. "But we must cross." The power of the water repulsed him, made his limbs like lead and his heart struggle to pump, but at least he could see the inn on the far side of the bridge here. There was something about it he didn't like, but his vision had gone red and blurry with the struggle. He had to get there, and he had to take Belmont. The hunter wouldn't survive the night out here; he might very well drown on dry land.

  
"Can I help?" Trevor asked. Another wave of vertigo crashed over him and Adrian shut his eyes again, faltering. If he only knew. But draining his blood wouldn't be a workable long term solution, as his mother might say.

  
"No," he squeezed out. "Not unless you can stop the river." He crouched on his hands and knees, doing his best to keep the rain that drummed against his back from hitting Belmont, but he could not move forward. He was too weak, his vampire half starved into submission, but apparently not human enough to walk across a fucking bridge.

  
"Here," Trevor said. He got his arms under him and scooted back on the wood until he was an arm length away, past the halfway point of the bridge. Alucard met his eyes and realized how difficult it was for him, too cold to shiver, white with pain, gingerly dragging his injured leg back.

  
"Keep going," Adrian told him. "If you can. There's an inn over there. They will help you," he slumped, his gorge rising as he continued to fight the current.

  
"No. Come on. I've seen what you can do. You can do this. Look at me," he said. Adrian opened his eyes and squinted into the rain. Trevor leaned forward and held his hand out for him. "That's good. Eyes here. Take my hand." Adrian did as he was told, staring into Trevor's eyes. He lifted his hand from the bridge, slowly, feeling like he was letting go of a cliff. There were fresh gouges in the wood where he had dug his nails in like claws. He put his hand out and Trevor took it, clasping it in his chilled but strong fingers. 

  
"There. Now come to me," he said, and he pulled on his arm with gentle pressure. It was like being torn, forced through a wall, but he made it to Trevor somehow. He kept his eyes on the hunter, trembling with the effort, but when he at last crossed the halfway point the dragging vertigo began to ebb. He broke eye contact to be sick at the side of the bridge. He did not look at the river while he did it, and Trevor did not look at him. The moment passed, leaving him weak.

  
"Thank you," he said. "I apologize."

  
"Need me to keep going? We got about three butt lengths of bridge left."

  
"I can manage," he said, smiling in spite of himself. He forced himself off his knees, and then to his feet. He swayed slightly, but Trevor was correct in his estimation of the remaining distance. Trevor winced but didn't complain when Adrian hefted him back up and carried him, slowly, like a rain drenched bride across the bridge.

  
"Now," Trevor said. "Let's get to that inn. Before you drop me again. I could really use an ale or five."

  
"You get soup first. And a towel. You smell like a wet hound."

  
"Says the guy with a wolf form," Trevor retorted.


End file.
